


Fifty Shades Dicked

by rowanix



Series: Fifty Shades of Ectoplasm [3]
Category: Lockwood & Co. - Jonathan Stroud
Genre: Crack, Humor, Inappropriate Humor, implied locklyle, no actual canoodling tho
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-19
Updated: 2020-04-19
Packaged: 2021-03-01 17:09:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,626
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23740597
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rowanix/pseuds/rowanix
Summary: The gang stumble across a certain something previously owned by Mr and Mrs Lockwood. Shenanigans ensue.
Series: Fifty Shades of Ectoplasm [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1096062
Comments: 5
Kudos: 41





	Fifty Shades Dicked

**Author's Note:**

> I am... so sorry. But in my defence this is entirely the fault of the heathens on the discord once again. Namely, @/ironsilversaltandtea for posting the photo that led to it all, @/achillesangst for making some interesting art of it, and @/stormwalkers and @/wolfjawswriter for just general shenanigans and egging on. (You can find them all on Tumblr).
> 
> Anyway, without further ado, please enjoy the third instalment of Fifty Shades of Ectoplasm to get you through this quarantine!

It was a mild spring morning the day we managed to scar Lockwood for life.

The company was going through a lull in cases - something about warmer weather and extended daylight made ghosts not want to show themselves - and we were using that time to do a spot of spring cleaning. The fact that Holly had threatened to quit if she found another of George’s rotting ‘experiments’ stuffed in a random cupboard had absolutely nothing to do with it.

Holly was out with her flatmate on what she insisted was ‘definitely not a date, stop being nosy’ and had appointed Quill to keep an eye on us. His only purpose seemed to be nabbing whatever alcohol we found buried in cupboards from the days when Lockwood’s parents were still around and lounging in a chair complaining about this and that. I wasn’t really paying attention, to be honest; I was too busy trying to get Skully to stop dripping ectoplasm all over the newly-cleaned surfaces as he hovered above us making increasingly rude comments. 

“You could help you know!” I snapped at him, interrupting Quill’s ranting about the extortionate prices of laundry detergent.

“ _Moi?_ ” said Skully, swooning dramatically in midair. “ _I am but a simple street urchin, I know nothing about this so-called ‘cleaning’ thing._ ” He waved a hand and sent half the kitchen appliances skidding across the counter and crashing to the floor. “ _Whoopsie_!” he said, though his sadistic grin was far from apologetic. 

I picked up the salt shaker and threw it at him. It passed right through, of course, and collided with the wall, but a few grains of salt came loose and hissed as they came into contact with his ectoplasm. 

“ _Ow!_ ”

I ignored his complaints and went to put the appliances back with Lockwood and George’s help. When the boys hefted up the microwave, I noticed the floorboard beneath it had come loose. I knelt by it and dug my fingers in to prise it up.

“There’s a box under here,” I informed them, brushing dust away from the wilted cardboard.

George kneeled next to me and adjusted his glasses to peer at it. “Interesting. Reckon it contains anything of paranormal significance?”

“Or anything valuable?” said Quill, kneeling on my other side.

“It’s probably just stuff my parents hid when authorities came to call,” shrugged Lockwood, turning away with his bright pink feather duster to clean the higher shelves. “They weren’t exactly supposed to bring possible Sources into the country.”

Whatever it was, investigating it seemed more fun than cleaning, so I prised up the floorboards either side of the gap and wiggled the box free. 

The box was filled to the brim with packing foam, but when I dug it out and managed a first glimpse at what it was hiding, I nearly choked.

“What is it?” said Lockwood, whirling back around at the noise. “Are you alright, Lucy?”

My face pulled taut in a gallant effort not to laugh, I dug my hands into the box and pulled out its contents: a finely crafted china teapot, in the shape of a dick and balls.

Immediately, my hearing filled with spectral laughter as Skully burst into loud cackling above me, gripping his stomach and gasping for nonexistent breath. Quill and George weren’t far from joining in.

“Oh my god,” Quill gasped, wheezing as tears of mirth filled his eyes. “Tony, what exactly were your parents into?”

Lockwood’s face had gone a brilliant shade of red as he stammered for words. “It- It can’t be theirs- they- it must have belonged to the last people who owned the house…”

George took the teapot off me, which I was very grateful for as I was dangerously close to dropping it with my hands shaking from laughter. He cleaned his glasses on his shirt, placed them back on his head, then took the lid of the phallic pot and peered inside.

“Oh,” he said, the laughter immediately wiped from his face. “Oh, this definitely belonged to your parents, Lockwood.”

“What?” said Lockwood, eying the teapot from a distance as though weary it would blow up any minute. “What is it?”

George silently handed the teapot over to Quill before standing, going over to the sink, and dunking his head in the basin of what was now very cold water. 

Quill reached into the teapot and pulled out a stack of old photographs. I leaned over his shoulder curiously as he flicked through them and immediately started choking for real. I recognised Celia and Donald Lockwood from the few photos Lockwood had scattered around the house. I was not prepared for the positions they were in.

“What is it?” Lockwood insisted. “What’s on them?” He moved to reach for them but Quill jerked them out of his reach. Unfortunately, this put them right into Skully’s line of sight and the ghost started cackling even harder than before.

“ _Holy shit, those are some saucy parents he has. Come on, Luce, show the boy how he was probably conceived!_ ”

“Nope!” I blurted, snatching the photos from Quill’s hand and lurching to my feet to make a beeline for the living room and - more importantly - the fireplace. “Lockwood, trust me, you do not want to see these.”

“If they’re photos of my parents, I want to see!” cried Lockwood, chasing after me.

It was then that the umbrella stand in the hallway fell into my path - entirely on its own, Skully would insist later - and my feet collided with it causing me to crash down to the floor, my grip coming loose from the photo stack and resulting in a whirlwind of erotic snapshots to fall down around me.

“Oh no.” Lockwood’s voice seemed very cracked and distant, and when I pushed myself up and turned to him, the poor boy had his hands clamped tight over his eyes, his face and ears tomato red. “George, please tear out my eyes!”

“Only if you tear out mine too,” George said, coming into the hallway with his hair dripping wet. “God, this is almost as bad as when I walked in on my mum-”

“Do not finish that sentence!”

“At least you don’t have to look your parents in the eyes after this,” George muttered, folding his arms over his chest. “Took me three months to get over that.”

“I’m going to have nightmares,” moaned Lockwood. “Lucy, please tell me you’ve picked them all up by now.”

Quill and I were systematically gathering them up and tossing them in the fireplace. Only when Quill had lit the fire did we give Lockwood the all-clear.

“I am never cleaning the house again!” Lockwood declared, collapsing against me with his face buried into my shoulder. I patted his back sympathetically.

“At least we got a new teapot out of it,” said George. “Tea, anyone?”

“There is no way I am drinking tea out of that thing,” said Lockwood. “Can we please get rid of it?”

“Or...” I said, spying the blackened skull perched on a shelf in the kitchen. “I have another idea.”

* * *

Holly returned to find us all - minus George, who was making sure there were no loose photos lying around - sheepishly sitting around the kitchen table sipping tea. The kitchen was clean, at least, but Holly didn’t even seem to notice, her eyes going straight to the teapot on the table.

“What. On earth. Is that?”

“Our new teapot,” I said matter-of-factly. “Like it?”

“That is the most disgusting thing I’ve ever seen,” said Holly, her nose wrinkling. “I have never understood the appeal of these things.”

“You wouldn’t understand,” said Quill, sipping his tea casually.

“I’m throwing it out,” said Holly, picking it up with the tips of her fingers like it was contaminated, which it probably was.

It was then that Skully decided to make his presence known by forming directly out of the ‘spout’, his ectoplasm contorted grotesquely into the happy farmhand.

Holly, to no one’s surprise, shrieked and hurled the teapot all the way down the hall where a loud thump and yelp ensued.

“Oh my gosh, George, I’m so sorry!” Holly cried, rushing down the hall with the rest of us at her heels to find George curled up on the floor, the shattered remains of the teapot as well as the skull surrounding him. “Are you alright?!”

George groaned and pushed himself upright to reveal his glasses askew and a bright red mark on his face in the perfect silhouette of a dick and balls. I tried to stop myself laughing and only half managed.

“I think I have a concussion,” George slurred.

“Hospital,” said Holly, helping George up and bustling him to the door. “Hospital, now.”

* * *

The nurse looked from the penis permanently etched onto George’s face, to the haunted look in Lockwood’s eyes, to me and Quill who were still snickering, before finally turning to Holly who she seemed to deem as the most sensible one of the group. She wasn’t exactly wrong. Perhaps she remembered us from the time George got a condom stuck over his head and nearly suffocated.

“How?”

“Dick teapot,” I blurted, trying not to look at George’s face because if I did I would most certainly die of laughter. Unfortunately, this made me picture it again and I snorted anyway.

The nurse heaved a great sigh as if this was just the same old bullshit she had to deal with every day.

“Just once,” she said, “why can’t it just be ghost-touch.”

George rubbed at the imprint on his face, then seemed to realise it looked like he was wanking the dick off and stopped. “You know,” he said, ignoring me and Quill wheezing next to him, “I’m actually with you on that one, ma’am.”


End file.
